Without Fear
by Ragnhild
Summary: Matthew Murdock has recently been blinded in an accident. Will he become the man we know as Daredevil? Will not be continued, unless someone grants me some extra hours of the day.
1. Chapter 1 A father and a son

Matt Murdock, the very young Daredevil. Based as much on "Daredevil - the movie", Marvel & 20th Century Fox, 2003, as on Frank Miller's comic books, Marvel 1979-1986. I don't own DD, I don't want to earn money on DD, I just borrow him for now.

About language: English is not my native language. I try to write British, but my spell-check insists on American. Please, don't flame me, but tell me about any major mistakes.

Please read, enjoy and review!

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**Without fear**

The boy sat alone in the dark room. Silently. Listening. His father sat in the brightly lit kitchen. The father looked at his son, with an expression of love, care, worry, guilt, and deep sorrow. It had been almost three full weeks since the accident now. And the boy had been home from the hospital for seven long days. The father shuffled his feet. The boy tilted his head slightly. "Are you all right, son?" the father asked. Seven days had gone since his son was released from the hospital. The doctors could not do anything. Twenty dark days since the accident. The father cringed as his son turned his head in his direction. The boy's bright and shiny eyes had reminded him so very much about a mother and wife long gone. The first twenty days of a long life in darkness. The boy's unseeing eyes turned towards his father. "Yes, dad. I'm all right."

Mathew Murdock sat surrounded by sounds. The ticking of the wall clock. His father's shuffling, breathing. Voices from the staircase, from the flat next door, from the street outside. The ticking of the clock. Cars driving down the street. Honking. Shouting. Glass breaking. Voices shouting in the hall, in the flat next door, in the street and in the bar across the street. The ticking of the clock. His father's breathing, heartbeats. Heartbeats? All these sounds surrounded Mathew Murdock. And this strange, black-on-black, almost-like-seeing, sound.

Twenty days ago Mathew had hurried home from school. Matt didn't take part in any of the school's sports teams. He was secretary of the science club, but they didn't meet this day. Matt paid attention in class, he did his homework, and was well liked by the teachers. He was the smallest boy in his class, and was an obvious target for big bullies like Frank and his gang. To avoid them, Matt had begun taking different routes home every day. Sometimes he managed to stay clear, and sometimes not. This day Matt had crossed the playground, climbed a fence, and run two back alleys when Frank caught him. 

"So there you are," Frank said with a smirk. "You got somethin' for me, Murdock?" Sometimes Matt was able to buy himself free, maybe even "protection" for a whole day. But this day he didn't have anything. Only his school books. 

"You ain't got nothin'? Let's see." Ethan, Frank's second in command, grabbed Matt's shoulder and forced him up against the brick wall. Matt mumbled something. "Huh?" "I said I haven't got anything for you." Ethan pushed harder. Frank laughed. "So you HAVEN'T got ANYTHING. Listen to this, gentlemen. This sweet little daisy HAVEN'T got ANYTHING. Why, gentlemen, I think I'll have to check that for my self." 

Frank pulled book after book up from Matt's bag, tearing them apart and dropping the reminding pages om the muddy ground. The text books, writing books. Matt wriggled to get free, but in vain. Frank held up his final price. "Oh, I see you are a straight A student!" He had gotten hold of Matt's mid-term grades. "Or, not really, I see. How do you dare to get a B in Physical Education? A daredevil act to ruin your chances at an ivy league university?" Matt wriggled and stretched his arms to get at Frank. "My father's gonna get you. He'll make you pay for this." Matt shouted and fought against Ethan's firm grip. "Your father? Jack Murdock, the has-been? He can't win a fight that ain't been fixed. He can't even swat a fly!" Ethan let Matt loose. He grabbed the empty, muddy bag and headed for the end of the alley as fast as he could. He could hear Ethan laugh as Frank called after him. "Oh, let the daredevil run to his daddy!"

Matt wiped his eyes as he ran down towards the harbour. He didn't know whether his father worked down there this day, but at least he would avoid Frank's gang. Only a few more blocks now. Across this street, through this gate, around this corner, and... There were someone in the alley. A man pleading for just a little more time. "... I'll have the money by tomorrow, I promise! Please, don't hurt me..." A big, broad shouldered man in a black leather jacket almost lifted the other man. "You knew the terms when you got the money. And you knew the consequences..." Matt stepped back, stirring up some dead leaves. The tall man turned his head. Their eyes met. Both froze. Matt had believed his father when he said he no longer worked for the Fixer, but had got honest work at the docks. The father knew he had tried, and failed. A former boxer with back aches and injuries didn't get work that included heavy lifting. He could do something though. There were fees to collect, interest to be gathered, favours to be withdrawn. Jack Murdock could get a good day's pay as the Fixer's hit man, or no pay at all.

Jack Murdock tried to do what he could to provide for his son. He had never had much school, he did not know how to handle heavy machinery, an his backaches prevented him from heavy lifting. There might have been other work for him elsewhere, but not here in Hell's Kitchen. Jack Murdock was a boxer, an once he had been a good one. But he lost more matches than he won at the moment. That moment had lasted for a couple of years now, come to think about it. He had little or no health insurance for himself, and a visit to the doctor's office was expensive. A bottle or two of cheap brandy was as good a pain killer as any prescription pill. But he knew he had to look after his son. He had promised Grace that he'd do that, before she ... died.

Mat ran again, not even bothering to wipe his eyes this time. His father called after him, but Matt didn't stop. He felt betrayed by his father, and by his own wish that his father had straightened up his act. His throat ached and his cheeks were wet from the tears running down them. Matt could hear big, heavy feet following him as he dodged around some barrels. He darted a glance back towards his father. He turned. A forklift swerved to avoid the boy. The forklift hit a barrel and cut a hole. A spray of liquid. 

Jack Murdock, once a boxer, tried to make a living as a hit man. He tried to force a man he knew to pay. He tried to get money for a man he despised. But most of all he despised himself for taking on this job. And now his only son had seen him. Oh, God, if only he hadn't seen him. Jack ran, he tried to call Matt back, but Matt didn't stop. Matt looked back. Their eyes met for one last moment. Then a forklift turned a corner, the driver tried to avoid the small boy in front of him. He swerved. He did not hit the boy, but he cut a hole in one of the barrels stacked next to him. Jack could only watch as the poisonous liquid splashed down Matt's face. Jack's own moan of agony was drowned in the sounds of his son's screams of pain. "God, please, help my son!" But Jack did not hear God answering as the ambulance rushed Matt to hospital.

Pain. Darkness. The doctors said the pain would ease eventually, but they could do nothing to lift the eternal darkness.

This was twenty days ago. The father and the son sat in silence thinking about the last weeks, contemplating their futures. Something different was about to happen. But only the future could tell what.


	2. Chapter 2 An end, and a beginning

Disclaimer: 

Marvel own him. And several other authors than Frank Miller has written DD stories and got paid by Marvel, but Frank Miller was the best. I know Stan Lee invented him, that doesn't matter.

  


Less movie and more comic book in this chapter, but even more of my own imagination. 

Matt went to some sort of school, learning to handle his handicap, didn't he? A poor, Irish, catholic boy..... A charity school of some sort seems right. And where does Stick show up, if Matt didn't save him from being run down by that truck carrying containers of radioactive waste? Somehow he doesn't seem like a teacher you'd find at a catholic charity school, but he could be a janitor or a cleaner. So, there you are, and here is my masterpiece. Read and enjoy. And review, please.

  


That language thing......

English is a foreign language to me, even though I've learned it for a long time. And I've still only got an American spell-check program. Please, tell me about major mistakes :-)

  


  


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Without fear 

Chapter 2:

  


The boy found his way from the bedroom to the bathroom and back without any stumbling. His father watched him from the kitchen, and called his name as he reappeared in the bedroom door. "Mathew, are you all right? Do you need anything?" Mathew shock his head. "No. I found it." He held up a brown envelope, opened it and picked out a sheet of heavy white paper. "Dad...." For the first time there was a hint of uncertainty in Matt's voice. The top half of the page was printed, but the bottom half.... The father, Battlin' Jack Murdock, could not hear the soft sigh of his son. The bottom half of the page was written in Braille.

  


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From:

Sta. Cecilia's institute for the visually impaired

To:

Mr. Mathew Murdock and his guardians.

  


We are glad to inform you, that Mr. Mathew Murdock has been admitted to our institute. Please report to the headmaster's office on your arrival.....

.......

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The letter continued for another paragraph or so. Matt listened to his father's voice as he read but he did not pay much attention. Santa Cecilia's institute for the visually impaired was run on charity, but the nuns and teachers would provide what Matt knew he needed. How to read, to find his way, to cross a street, to live his life. And maybe even to manage these thundering noises that invaded his ears at all hours. How to use this black-on-black, almost-like-seeing sound. Jack had finished reading the letter, and dropped it on the kitchen table with a small flopping sound. Matt picked it up and touched the page. The Braille stood out clearly, even if Matt could not read what it said. But he could also feel the printed text. Small, irregular imprints....

  


The next morning Matt walked to Sta. Cecilia's, lead by the hand by his father. It wasn't long before he had a splitting headache, and the cars, buses, and motorcycles sounded like they were going to run them down every second. Only his father's big, warm and safe hand kept Matt from panicking and freezing stiff in the middle of a street. It wasn't more than twenty three days since the accident that had blinded him, and this was his first adventure outside his own safe rooms. This walk felt like it lasted for hours, like they walked many miles, but they got there. Open a gate, up five steps, in through a door, and there they were. Indoors. Safe.

At the headmaster's office, Jack signed some papers, agreeing to the terms of Matt's education. The first eight weeks were paid for by a grant, after that time tuition fees were...., increasing to...., to be paid at...., and did not include..... "And then, Mathew, let's find your equipment." Matt turned towards the teacher, and was handed books, a frame and stylus for writing Braille, a small cassette recorder and some audio tapes, and a cane. He crammed most of the things into his school bag, but he kept the cane in his hand. "Most of our students started their autumn term several weeks ago, so you'll just have to be fitted into classes. Just follow me. And you, Mr. Murdock, you can pick up your son at four this afternoon. " And once again Matt was lead by the hand into the unknown.

  


The days went past, one like the other. Every morning Matt was lead by the hand to school, and every afternoon he was picked up again. Classes were noisy and confusing, and finding his way or learning new things went painfully slow. It seemed to Matt that no one else were troubled by the thundering noises like he was. And every other child at school seemed to have more friends than they needed already. No one were cruel to Matt, they simply didn't care whether he was there or not. Until one afternoon when he waited for his father to pick him up.

  


Matt sat at the doorstep. The gates in front of him gave a small, squeaking sound as the wind pushed them to and froe. Matt could almost see them. The branches of the trees by the fence swayed and creaked, dead leaves rustled along the walls and in the corner below the front stairs. He tapped his cane carefully against the steps. The echo told him that the walls and floor in the corridor behind him were smooth and hard. There were openings, doors, at regular intervals. And something, someone, was standing perfectly still, watching him. Or maybe listening?

"You're the new one, I've been noticing you. Unlike most of the kids here, you listen, even if you don't really know how." It was the voice of a grown man, and not one of the teachers that Matt had met. The voice sounded confident and, not old, but like it belonged to a man that had lived for some time. Matt turned his head towards the man, waiting to hear what came next. He was not prepared for the slap, but somehow he sensed it coming, and managed to avoid most of it. "What the f*! Why on Earth did you do that!" Matt was really upset. This maniac was attacking a defenseless blind child! "You avoided most of it, didn't you? Why didn't you stop me?" Yeah, as if this goon should take credit for his, Matt's, good ears, and whatever that black-on-black sound was. "I happen to be blind, you moron! I can't see what you are doing!" 

"You are blind, all right, but you are not deaf. You might be stupid, though I really doubt that. I've heard how you never fall over chairs in the cafeteria or bags in the classrooms. I hear how you flinch at sharp noises, how your heart races at sounds no one else can hear." Oh, my, this man was good. Wait a moment.... He'd heard all this stuff? Heartbeats? "And I'll wager," the man continued, "quite a sum, that you'd be able to see the sound with some coaching." Matt sat stiff as a post, listening with all his body. "By your reaction, I'd guess you're already at least halfway there." Matt's heart pounded. He cleared his voice, but still he only managed a small whisper. "You know how...? Can you teach me?"

  


And that was the beginning of a rather peculiar kind of friendship. 


	3. Chapter 3 School and work

Disclaimer: Same as before. I don't own them, I don't want to earn any money on them.

  


English is still not my native language: please excuse inconsistencies and tell me about major mistakes.

  


Let's go on with the story.......

  


  


The old man was called Stick, and he worked as a janitor at Sta. Cecilia's. Matt went to school and made great progress. The teachers were impressed by how quickly Matt was able to find his way and to avoid obstacles. His father, Jack Murdock, was happy that his son wasn't so depressed any more. And after only a few more weeks Matt even braced himself to walk to school by himself. A small victory, but a very important one. And every afternoon, after classes and before his father came to pick him up, Matt spent time with Stick, learning to listen.

  


As the weeks passed, Matt's school fees increased, and Jack had to work more to raise the money. He boxed, and lost some games, and won some more. He took another job at the docks, hoping against all hope that his back wouldn't give in on him. Sometimes he helped out in one of the local bars, carrying beer crates in through the back door, and bouncing people out the front door. And then one day, Jack Murdock was approached by a man he had hoped never to see again. The Fixer.

"I see you work hard these days," The Fixer said as an introduction. His giant companion stood silently behind him, not moving a muscle. "You have an important match this Saturday." It wasn't a question. Jack didn't answer. If he won this match, he'd have a chance at the championship. That would solve a whole lot of financial problems. "You need to loose this fight." As so many other big, strong men, Jack needed some time before he got angry, but he was getting there. "I've stopped working for you, Mr Fixer." He flexed his fingers slowly. "I don't need your help to win a fight, and you can't tell me when to loose one either." The Fixer smiled. "You'll see that you are wrong. You never stopped working for me. Do you really think you won all these fights by yourself?" Had he really? Yes, Jack believed in his own luck and his own skills. He'd definitely done this by himself. Somehow Matt had inspired him to do far more than what he had thought was possible. He had started believing it **was** possible, and then it was just a matter of doing it. He wasn't going to take the Fixer's instructions anymore, and he told him so in no uncertain way. The Fixer's giant shrugged. Even a heavyweight boxer like Jack Murdock had reason to feel dwarfed by this wall of a person. A small "We'll see....", and they were off. Jack really could not tell why, but these few words scared the shit out of him.

  


Matt waited by the school gates when Jack came to pick him up. Matt listened. There was something in his father's steps, a whiff of worry, an angry heartbeat. Somehow this all calmed down when he approached, and when Jack reached out and touched his son, Matt could only trace a small hint of concern. They walked home side by side, Matt telling about his day, emphasizing his progress. Jack nodded at the right times and gave a few encouraging sounds, but didn't pay much attention. Matt's conclusion came as a shock to him: "So then, Dad, I'd like to go back to my old school." "What?" Jack had to rerun the conversation in his mind. "Quit Sta. Cecilia's, you mean? You think you'll manage that?" Matt nodded. "I'll need some help, of course. Maybe some equipment. I've learned Braille, but I'm not very good at typing yet. And I need translated books, and audio books, and someone to check my Braille homework, but the school can get someone at Sta. Cecilia's to help them....." He seemed to have it all sorted out. "And as I didn't quit my old school legally, it's just a matter of giving the teachers a few days to get ready. It isn't as if they've got to 'Blind proof' the whole school, you know." Jack felt a surge of fatherly pride, but he also felt he had to point out some obvious facts. "How about your mobility classes? Learning to get around? Going from classroom to classroom, or to the cafeteria, it's not going to be easy." "Life isn't easy. I haven't had mobility training for a month now. Just look." And Jack did, and realized that he hadn't **seen** his son this afternoon. Just a few days after his first meeting with Stick, Matt had asked his father not to hold his hand as they walked home, just to walk beside him. Now they walked along the pavement, and Matt held his cane as if it was a pool cue, not even touching the ground. They turned a corner, he dropped the tip of the cane for a split second, and continued. "You know, Dad. I've walked this route for three months now. I guess I could do it without my cane, but I prefer to have it at street crossings. It's really just a matter of listening." Jack stared. "Did you learn this at your mobility classes?" Matt smiled, but never got to answer that question. "We're home. Do you have any plans for dinner? I **can** cook, you know, if it isn't too complicated." And so the evening went with Matt showing off his skills, and his father never getting to ask who had taught him.

  



End file.
